


We Can Save the World (Or Maybe Just Ourselves)

by brickroad16



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/F, Female Relationships, Friendship, Gen, Modern AU, Pancakes, Romance, also featuring, and lexa does too, and slight octavia/lincoln, but lexa is also stoic and stubborn, clarke has a big old crush, maybe eventually, slight abby/marcus, superhero au, there are always pancakes, yes definitely eventually romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5093732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brickroad16/pseuds/brickroad16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin, known to the people of Polis as Sky Girl, is the new superhero in town and the darling of The Polis Independent. But the only person she's interested in winning over is the Commander, the city's first superhero who's since fallen into disgrace. On a quiet rooftop, can the two forge an alliance for the sake of their city?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just really liked the pilot of Supergirl, okay? 
> 
> I want to write a few more loosely connected chapters, but I'm marking it as complete for now since I don't know when/if I'll get to them. Hope you like it!

It’s official. There’s not a chance in hell Clarke will ever get used to the beauty, the wonder, the _magnificence_ that is flying. She soars above Polis in a brand new suit, which every member of the team has guaranteed her won’t shred or catch on fire or shrink or chafe. The past few months have been a learning curve, but if some less-than-perfect suits are the price she pays for this—this sensation, this view—she’ll pay it willingly.

She gently touches down on the top of the Ark, the highest building in the city, and zooms in with her hearing. She’s getting quicker, but it still takes a moment to get past the din of people talking and car horns honking and phones ringing and elevators whirring and _everything_. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, the cacophony falls away to reveal a delicate rhythm of heavy breathing, grunts, and the smack of skin on skin.

That’s definitely a fight. And she already has an idea who’s involved.

Clarke pushes off the roof and zooms toward the sound, her cape flapping behind her. She may not have been born with this power running through her veins, but she was born to help people. She finds them in a bank thirteen blocks north. One of the windows is already smashed, revealing the brawl inside.

Five men in ski masks simultaneously attack a woman clad from neck to toe in black armor. Black war paint is smeared around her green eyes. Even as she dodges fists and her own blows connect with square jaws and straight noses, a quirk of a smile lingers on her lips.

The Commander. Polis’s first superhero and intimidating as hell.

Which is beyond dumb. Clarke is a superhero, too.

After hovering in the window, she flies into the fray. “Need some help, Commander?” she asks as she socks the biggest dude in the jaw. The impact shoves him into the far wall, indenting the marble. He slumps to the floor.

“I can handle this, Sky Girl,” the Commander growls.

Clarke bristles at the name. It’s what _The Polis Independent_ started calling her without even asking her opinion, and it spread to the populace before she could stop it. “I know you can,” she says. “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

The Commander grunts incoherently. Not explicit acquiescence, but also not explicit denial. Clarke jumps in again. Between her sheer strength and the Commander’s pure badassery, they take care of the bank robbers in mere minutes. The Commander ties the unconscious men up as Clarke drags the last one, the one practically _in_ the marble wall, over to the circle.

“Hey,” she says, slightly out of breath. That has everything to do with the scuffle and nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with being intimidated by her unofficial colleague. “We should, like, do this more often. We could exchange tips and stuff.”

The Commander tightens a zip tie around one robber’s wrist and looks up. “We don’t have time for this. We have to get out of here before the police come.”

“Right. Right.”

The Commander strides toward the shattered window. She’s already dismissed Clarke as lesser, as undeserving of her attention.

Clarke licks her lips, fighting the burn in her chest. She’s never been not good enough for anyone. This is the closest she’s ever been to this woman, a woman she looks up to and wants to learn from, and she can’t let that opportunity slip through her fingers. “Then meet me at 214 Dropship Street in an hour.”

The Commander casts a glance over her shoulder. “See you around, Sky Girl.”

* * *

Clarke sits on the edge of her roof, bumping her boot-clad heels against the concrete. She hasn’t taken the suit off because she needs to be ready for another emergency. Until then, she can enjoy the night. It’s coming on fall, the hint of a chill in the air. A full moon hides behind dark purple clouds, but the city lights drown out the stars. Pity, that. Nowadays, looking up at the stars is the one thing that makes her feel small, makes her feel vulnerable. A couple weeks after she told her friends about the accident, Jasper told her she could be a god. But even gods need perspective.

Clarke inhales deeply. It’s only taken her four months to figure out that gods are lonely, too. She loves her friends, _needs_ them, but no matter they still share laughter and tears, she’s separate now. They can never fully understand, not really.

The gentle scuffle of feet on pavement registers in her superhearing, and her heart gives a little jump as she registers The Commander eight floors below her.

The Commander. On _her_ street.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Clarke calls down, successfully containing the giddiness in her voice.

The Commander shrugs. “I didn’t have anything better to do.”

Whether it’s true or a ploy to keep emotional distance between them, Clarke doesn’t care one whit. “Come on up.”

The Commander looks to her feet and back up. “Not all superheroes can fly, Sky Girl.”

“Just use your grappling hook.”

“What if I don’t have a grappling hook?”

“Come on. You’re not giving away trade secrets. Everyone who reads _The Independent_ knows you have a grappling hook. Just get up here.” Clarke walks over to the rooftop door to a cooler sitting near it. She plucks two Reapers Brewery beers from its icy depths.

By the time she turns around, the Commander’s pulling herself over the roof edge and onto her feet. She retracts the grappling hook, hides it away in her armor, and locks gazes with Clarke, who’s struck by those deep green eyes. They’re like a forest, one she’d have no qualms about getting lost in.

The Commander smirks. “Is one of those for me?”

“What? Oh. Yeah, yeah.” Clarke holds a beer out to the other woman.

They sit on the roof edge, side by side but not touching, and look out at the mostly sleeping city.

The Commander takes a sip of beer. “Inviting me to your base was a mistake.”

Clarke wants to laugh, but she’s still getting over the fact that Polis’s original hero— _her_ hero—is sitting beside her and making conversation with her. “How do you figure?” she chokes out.

“Now I have an advantage over you,” the Commander says matter-of-factly.

“That implies that I don’t know where your lair is, but I do.”

The Commander stares her down. Finally, she says, “Bluff. No one outside of my team knows where it is.”

“Fine. You caught me.”

When Clarke smiles, the Commander returns it. In lesser force, true, but she returns it.

“Why’d you invite me here, anyway?” the Commander asks, looking away again.

Clarke shrugs. She had many reasons, none easily expressed. “To look out at the city?”

“Polis is my city. I know it well.”

Clarke sips her beer to drown out the implied claim on territory, the implied _Get out_. “We’re on the same side. Surely there’s room for both of us.”

“What are you suggesting? We stay out of each other’s way?”

Emboldened—by the alcohol, by her proximity to a legend—Clarke shakes her head. “That’s not good enough for me.”

“What, then?”

“We team up, work together. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Like an alliance?”

“Yeah. An alliance. We could be the greatest team there’s ever been.”

“Did you just quote Broadway lyrics to me?”

“What if I did?”

The Commander appears to consider the proposal. “What could you offer me?”

“Um, I can fly. Remember?” Clarke can’t keep the boast out of her tone. Flying is _awesome_.

The Commander rolls her eyes. She quickly sobers and sips from her beer again. Clarke takes the opportunity to study the other woman. She’s young, probably only a year or two older than herself. Her armor’s form-fitting, hugging a slim frame. Her brown curly hair is tied back in intricate braids, and the moonlight makes her cheekbones pop. Even in the darkness, even with paint masking half her face, she’s gorgeous. The realization sends Clarke’s heart racing, and she hopes the Commander doesn’t have superhearing, too.

The Commander’s voice is soft when she says, “They loved me, too, when I first showed up.”

Clarke takes a deep breath. Shortly after the accident, she spent an entire day at the library looking at back copies of _The Independent_. The people really had loved the Commander at one point. For a long time, really. Until chance, fortune, whatever you want to call it led to the deaths of two dozen citizens.

“They’ll love you again,” Clarke says.

“People are fickle.”

“Then why do you still help them?”

The Commander turns to her. Her voice is hard, but her eyes are soft. “Because they’re _my_ people. That doesn’t change just because I’m not in their graces right now.”

Clarke doesn’t know what to say to that. Reassuring words, empty promises she can’t keep won’t mean anything to this woman, this hero who can’t seem to see her own worth. So Clarke says, “You know, in another life, I wanted to be an artist.”

“You still can be.”

“I know, but this who I am now.” Clarke downs the last of her beer. “For better or for worse.”

“For better,” the Commander whispers. “It’s for the better.”

* * *

Two beers later, after a silence that Clarke dares not risk breaking, the Commander says, “So, what are you? An alien?”

Clarke chuckles. “Not quite. But if I’m Superman, does that make you Batman?”

“I don’t wanna be Batman.” It’s almost a whine except such an intimidating presence as the Commander mostly definitely doesn’t whine.

Clarke ticks the points off on her fingers. “Ordinary guy—so to speak. Kickass fighting skills. Advanced tech. Let me guess—you’re a wealthy orphan.”

The Commander’s face falls. “Not quite.”

Damn. Sore subject. Clarke swivels, resting one knee on the ledge, to face her companion. “A conversation for another time, then,” she says gently.

“What makes you think we’re going to have another conversation, Sky Girl?”

“Sky Girl.” Clarke scoffs. “They could have at least called me Sky Princess or something. At least you get a cool name.”

The Commander laughs. It’s a vibrant, hearty sound that Clarke didn’t expect. She’s entranced, which is as bad—if not worse—than hating her. She needs a partner, a teacher, but she doesn’t need an entanglement right now.

“And we’re going to have another conversation,” Clarke says, “because you need me. As much as I need you.”

The Commander stands and brushes off her pants. “Keep dreaming, rookie.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but she stands, too, sad to see the night coming to an end, hoping there’ll be another one in the future. “Want a ride down?”

“Please. Eight stories? I can handle it, and I don’t need a cape to do it.”

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re kind of prickly. Anyone ever tell you that?”

The Commander laughs, and Clarke knows with a fierce certainty that she’ll go to the ends of the earth to hear that laugh again.

Balanced on the ledge, the Commander fixes her with a lopsided smile. “See you around, Clarke the Sky Princess.” Then she leaps.

Clarke leans over the edge of the roof. The Commander’s crouched on a balcony a floor down.

“Hey!” Clarke calls. “How’d you know my name?”

Even the darkness of the night can’t hide the Commander’s grin. “A conversation for another time.”

* * *

In the morning, Clarke wakes to a 9-by-12 yellow envelope taped to the outside of her window. Inside is a folder filled with newspaper clippings, all featuring stories involving her, stories of heroic rescues and daring deeds, stories of families coming back together all because of her. A note is scrawled on the folder’s back cover.

_You’re still an artist, Sky Princess. Your medium is humankind now._

\- _The Commander_

Clark grins, hugging the folder to her chest. As great as actual flying is, this feeling of floating is much, much better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to keep working on this! I'm planning six chapters, so we'll see where this goes! I'm looking forward to bringing in more of the characters. Thanks for the response. :)
> 
> Edit: I updated this very slightly because I wasn't happy with one thing and posted it too early because I was tired.

“Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke,” the Commander says.

They’re watching the sunrise today. Clarke’s exhausted from a night of crime-fighting, but if the vigilante can stay up all night without batting an eye, then she certainly should be able to, as well.

“Okay,” Clarke says after swallowing a sip of beer, “I don’t invite you up here to spout platitudes at me, Lexa, especially after the night I’ve had.”

The name is new enough that it still makes Clarke’s lips curl into a smile. Lexa had given away the detail during their second rooftop conversation. Full name: Alexandria Alycia Woods. CEO of Grounders Inc., the biggest and most successful company in Polis. Also the most philanthropic. So she’s pretty much Batman. Clarke’s already apologized profusely for her “wealthy orphan” comment their first night, even though it’s not entirely truth. The Woods kids’ wealth wasn’t inherited; it was earned.

Lexa Woods and her two siblings are Polis’s darlings—young, hardworking, kind. That makes the contrast between her two lives that much starker. But it also makes Clarke’s heart clench. Lexa does so much for this city—in both aspects of her life—and they love only one side of her.

“I thought you wanted to learn,” Lexa says.

“I do. I do,” Clarke insists. “I just . . . also want to relax sometimes. Besides, you’re like a year older than me.”

“But I’ve been doing this for much longer.”

Clarke concedes the point with a nod and another sip of beer. The sun’s rising with determination now, red and orange fingers stretching resolutely out over the city, refusing to let any corner go unlit. As big a rush she gets from helping people, she thinks she likes this best—watching the city come to life, knowing she made a difference, bumping shoulders with a good friend.

That’s what they are now, right? Sometimes, it’s hard to tell with Lexa.

Once the sun’s fully up, Lexa stands. “I have to get to work. I’m busy tonight, so you’ll have to pull some extra weight.”

Clarke stands, too, and meets her gaze. “I thought we weren’t working together.”

“We’re not.”

“Then what do you call this?” Clarke gestures between them because it lets her forget about how close this is to flirting.

Lexa smiles. “Complementary working styles.”

“Of course. So, what’s tonight?”

Lexa grimaces. “A fall gala for Grounders.”

“Wow,” Clarke says through a chuckle. “Most people would be excited to hobnob with Polis elite.”

“I’d rather hobnob with friends.”

“Well, I promise I’ll pick up the slack.”

Lexa nods. “You can still call, though, if you need me. I have to put in an appearance, but Anya and Lincoln are pretty good about covering for me.”

“I’ll try not to get into trouble,” Clarke says.

“Seeing as how trouble has a way of finding you, I’ll expect your call.”

Clarke laughs. Her cape flutters in the early morning breeze. “Have fun tonight.”

* * *

“No,” Clarke growls between punches. This guy is unbelievably resilient. “We’re not calling her.”

She’s panting. She doesn’t pant. Not anymore. Not since the accident that rendered exercise completely unnecessary because no matter what she does, she’s always in peak physical condition.

“Princess,” Raven’s voice comes crackling through Clarke’s earpiece, “you’re dying out there. Either I’ve got to bring in some explosives, or we’ve got to call the cavalry.”

“She’s at an important gala for her company.”

“A gala? She’ll probably thank us for getting her out of there. I’m pulling the trigger, Griff.”

A palm slams into Clarke’s chest, throwing her into a brick wall, and she doesn’t have the breath to reply.

Holy shit, that hurt. That _shouldn’t_ hurt. Nothing should hurt.

She clutches her chest. Will that bruise? She didn’t even know her body had the capacity to bruise anymore. She lifts her head to look at her opponent. He’s beefy and furious and . . . has eyes that glow gold? Is that his secret? That he’s not human? She’s not entirely sure she’s human anymore, especially when she refused to let her mom do medical tests, but this is beyond what she’s prepared to deal with.

“Raven,” she says. “I think we’re dealing with something out of this world.”

“Out of this world?” comes the response. “What, like an alien? Clarke!”

“Yeah . . .”

“Hey, hang in there, all right?” Raven says. “The Commander’s ETA is seven minutes.”

“Seven?” Clarke asks, but the second syllable barely comes out as a gasp.

“Yeah, well, she can’t fly. It takes a bit longer for us normal humans.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You’re Clarke Griffin. Your best is better than anyone’s.”

“Thanks, Ray.” Clarke pushes herself out of the crumbled brick.

Her opponent’s smirking now. “What’s the matter, Sky Girl? Not quite at home in your powers yet?”

“Well,” Clarke says, stalking toward him and shaking a crick out of her neck, “this is the only fun I get in my life. Don’t want to end a fight too early.” She curls her hands into fists.

He tsks. “I thought you were the best Polis had to offer. How disappointing.”

“I’ll show you disapp—”

He thrusts out a hand, and she drops to her knees. In his fingers is a rock. Or is it a crystal? Her vision’s going fuzzy. Whatever it is, it’s like a magnet to her life force, sucking it straight out of her body. She feels weaker—not just than she has in months, but ever. She tries to push herself up, but her muscles don’t comply.

“Ray . . . Raven . . .”

 _Get up, get up, get up_ , Clarke scolds herself.

Boots clunk against concrete. The villain looms over her.

Then a second figure.

Then she passes out.

* * *

When Clarke wakes up, she’s in her bedroom. Her suit’s hanging on the closet door, and she’s dressed in soft pajamas. She sits up. She expects a raging headache or maybe just that lingering feeling of weakness, but she feels perfectly fine now.

“Morning,” a soft voice says. “You gave us quite the scare, Princess.”

“Bellamy,” she breathes, relieved. His presence is always comforting.

He smiles from his place in the armchair by the window. It seems to be daylight, which means she’s been out all night.

“How are you?” he asks. He wears a charcoal suit jacket and dark jeans, his detective badge hanging from a chain around his neck.

“Great. I feel great.”

“I bet you’ll feel even better after pancakes.”

Clarke gasps in delight. Blake pancakes are famous in her circle. “You’re making me pancakes?”

“Sorry,” he says, laughing, “I have to get to work. You’ve got a visiting cook.”

“A visitor?”

“Yeah, and before you complain that they’re not concerned enough, Raven and Octavia are still passed out in the extra bedroom. Monty and Wells are off to work already, but they both said they’d stop by later.”

Clarke shifts into a better position against the headboard. “Okay, but if it’s not them . . .”

As Bellamy gets up to leave, someone else comes in with a breakfast tray.

Lexa.

Clarke’s heart does somersaults. Oh, she’s really got to get this crush under control. They are colleagues and friends—maybe—and nothing more.

Bellamy sends her a wink over his shoulder before slipping out. She nearly flips him the bird out of habit, but she catches herself and clutches her sheets.

“Hey,” Lexa says.

“Hey,” Clarke says back. Smooth.

Lexa sets the tray over Clarke’s knees. “I thought you could use an energy pick-me-up after last night.”

Clarke blushes at the image that brings into her head. She picks up the steaming mug of coffee and buries her face in it.

“What?” Lexa asks, sitting cross-legged at the bottom of the bed.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . I never thought the Commander would be making me breakfast.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

Clarke laughs. She tilts her head toward the empty side of the bed. “Get up here. I can’t eat all this alone.”

Lexa obliges without the hesitation Clarke had expected. Once she settles in, their shoulders touching, it feels natural, like they could do this every morning.

Clarke forces that train of thought to screech to a halt. She sips the coffee—too hot—and burns her tongue. It heals in a moment, but still. Inconvenient. “Hey,” she says, "I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Lexa asks. She steals a slice of bacon from the tray.

“I promised to hold my own last night.”

“Raven said the guy had some kind of weapon he used against you and that’s why you got so weak. I think I can forgive you for that.” She shrugs. “Besides, you saved me from a boring party I didn’t want to go to in the first place.”

“Okay, but I’ll hold my own next time.”

“I know. You don’t have to prove yourself to me, Clarke. You already have.”

Lexa’s voice is gentle. Clarke could listen to it all day, let it lull her to sleep at night. It’s dangerous, really. Especially when combined with those forest-green eyes, those eyes that refuse to leave hers. Lexa swallows, and Clarke traces the movement with her gaze. This is . . . This is breakfast in bed and lazy morning conversation and this can’t be happening.

Clearing her throat, Clarke turns away and back to her pancakes. The morning paper sticks out from beneath the plate. Clarke snatches it and unfolds it.

 _The Commander Saves Sky Girl In Heroic Rescue_ is the front-page headline.

“Hey. Look at that. They love you again,” Clarke says.

“For now,” Lexa says. “They’ll change their minds again soon enough.”

“They won’t, but even if they do, they love you now. That’s important.”

“Except love is weakness.”

Clarke lifts a brow and pops a strawberry into her mouth. “You don’t have to be so cynical, you know.”

“I think I’m allowed to be.”

“Why? Because you’re Batman and ‘Broody’ is your middle name?” Clarke shifts to face her. “You haven’t stopped caring about them, Lex. You can pretend you have all you want, but you wouldn’t be out there every night if you didn’t, and you wouldn’t be steering your company toward technological and medical advances if you didn’t.”

Lexa’s jaw clenches. Clarke can tell something’s coming, so she waits, hard as it is. She takes a bite of the pancakes, which are _heavenly_ , and she waits.

Finally, Lexa lets out a long sigh. “My origin story isn’t as lighthearted as yours, Clarke.”

Clarke sets down the utensils to give Lexa her full attention.

“I was engaged once. A few years ago. She was murdered.” Lexa takes a deep, shaky breath. “It was after Grounders was up and running, after I realized I could use the technology to help the city. The police said it was random, and most days, I believe it. But being who I am and still not being able to save her, not being able to save those other twenty-three people . . . that's on me. I'm going to have to live with that the rest of my life. That's why I don't stop--as the Commander or as the CEO. I can't let myself. It doesn't matter if Polis loves me or not. I'm not going to let that happen to anyone else.”

“Oh, Lex.” Clarke slides her hand over Lexa’s.

“Her name was Costia.”

“I bet she was amazing,” Clarke says. Had to be, if Lexa loved her. _Loves_. That sort of love never goes away, never gets resolved. The only hope a person has is that they’ll find something to stitch that wound up again. Not fully, not beautifully. Just enough to make life worth living alongside the pain. Lexa’s something was becoming a vigilante.

“She was,” Lexa says.

Clarke squeezes her hand. “I think she’d be proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Lexa sits up a little straighter. “Want to do the crossword?”

“Oh, ho, boy, you are in for a treat. The Griffins are kings of the crossword.”

Lexa laughs, which is just the reaction Clarke was going for. She really is in deep. Might as well give in to it, though. Maybe the crush will go nowhere, but this—this whole saving the world thing—will. She can feel it. It’s in their blood, what they’re meant to do, and Clarke’s glad she has Lexa to do it with.

“Hey,” Lexa says when they’re stuck on 36 down. She fiddles with a corner of a napkin. “What do you think about teaming up? Officially, I mean.”

Clarke grins. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. “Yeah, I’d like that.” She holds her hand out to shake. “Sky Girl and the Commander.”

Lexa takes her hand. “The Commander and Sky Girl.”

“We’ll work on it. And thank you. For saving my life.”

“My pleasure, Sky Princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nobledeeds-and-hotbaths over at tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a Thanksgiving chapter, but I got pretty busy.
> 
> Come chat with me at nobledeeds-and-hotbaths on tumblr.

“You were supposed to cut him off from the other side,” Lexa growls as she leads the way through Clarke’s window and into the Dropship. It’s closer than TonDC, the split towers that Lexa lives and works in.

“I’m sorry. I was a little too busy following the criminals with the actual stolen goods,” Clarke barks back. She follows the Commander through her bedroom. “Like my team told me to.”

Lexa stops at the bedroom door to face her. “Are you saying my team isn’t good enough? They’ve been doing this a lot longer than yours.”

“Yeah, well, then, why’d they send you after the guy who didn’t have what we were after?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lexa says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because he had glowing eyes, just like the guy who attacked you a few weeks ago.”

Clarke rolls her eyes in an attempt to avoid seeing that look on her partner’s face, the one that makes her think about all the things she doesn’t want to think about. “I told you it wasn’t him.”

“All the more reason to go after him because that means there are two of them. And if there are two, there are probably more.” Lexa waits for Clarke to meet her gaze again. “Why are you acting like this isn’t a big deal, Clarke? A rock leveled you.”

It’s the calm matter-of-factness that does Clarke in, that silent plea in Lexa’s eyes. After that fight with the man with the glowing eyes, she’s been afraid she’s more vulnerable than she previously thought. And since fear isn’t productive, and since, without access to the man with glowing eyes, she has no way of testing the limits of her powers against his kind, she’s pushed it aside. It’s what she does best.

“I won’t ever get hurt, not the way you can,” she says. “So you can stop worrying about me.”

Lexa’s green eyes blaze with anger and a hint of pain, but she clenches her jaw and doesn’t say a word.

“See? This is why you two need GPS trackers,” Raven says, drawing their attention. “I’ve been saying this for months.”

Lexa steps into the main room, where Raven and Monty are waiting for their not-so-triumphant return. Clarke shoots Raven a smile for saving her from what that conversation could have become and for being a generally badass best friend and partner in crime-fighting.

“No. Absolutely not,” Lexa says.

“Why not?” Raven asks. “We should be taking any and all measures to keep you two safe.”

“And I thank you, both of you, for that,” Lexa says, “but what happens when a villain figures out I have a tracker and follows me to work, to business dinners, to galas? All of Polis will know I’m the Commander.”

“Yeah, we can’t have that,” Clarke agrees.

“We’ll put them in your suits, then,” Monty says. “Your boot soles!”

“Yeah, we’re only interested in tracking the Commander and Sky Girl, anyway,” Raven adds, “not Alexandria Woods and Clarke Griffin.”

A crease appears in Lexa’s brow. “I’ll think about it.” She veers into the kitchen to wash the paint from her face.

“Clarke?” Raven asks.

“It’s probably the best option,” Clarke agrees, flopping down on the couch. The rush of water from the kitchen sink overwhelms her for a moment. She loses focus. Voices, engines, footsteps, heartbeats, doors, telephones—everything blends together. Then Raven’s hand is on her knee and she comes back to herself. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Raven says.

“Can we figure out what cameras are around the area we lost the thieves and try to follow them, see where they end up?” Clarke suggests.

“Already on it,” Monty says. “Facial recognition software is combing the city’s security cameras. If they show up, we’ll see it.”

“Thanks.”

Lexa sits down in the armchair, Polis at her back, and sheds some of her Commander armor. Even without it, she remains as aloof as ever. Clarke can’t help but wonder if she’ll ever be able to get through those defenses.

“I’ll have my team look into every place that had records stolen,” she says. “Maybe they can find a pattern, figure out what these guys were after and why it was so important.”

“Cool,” Raven says, nodding. “That’s all we can do for now, right?”

“Yeah, you should get some rest,” Clarke says.

“We can’t all be superhuman like you,” Raven teases.

“Shut up, Reyes.”

“Make me, Sky Girl.”

“All right, all right,” Monty says good-naturedly. He gets to his feet and pulls Raven up.

“Goodnight, guys,” Clarke says. “And thanks again for your help.”

Monty smiles. “You don’t have to thank us every time, you know. Keeping you alive is kind of our job.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Raven says. “I like to hear my praises sung.”

Laughing, Clarke walks them to the door of her apartment. When she returns, Lexa’s already putting her armor back on and talking in a low tone to either Echo or Emori on the other end of her earpiece. Clarke’s heart falls. She thought they’d get to spend an hour—a few minutes, even—talking. She lives for those rooftop conversations.

“This isn’t working,” Lexa says.

What? No. Clarke gulps. “What do you mean? It’s just a small hiccup. We’ll work it out. We always do. We can make this work.” She’s close to pleading, and she’s not even embarrassed. She’s not above begging if it comes to that. “Come on, Lexa. We can’t call it quits so soon.”

Lexa looks up sharply. “What? I’m not calling it quits.”

“Then what was the mini-heart attack I just had about?”

“You should move in.”

This time, her heart stops outright. “What?”

“My family owns the building,” Lexa says. “Anya and I live on the top floor of the western side, half of which is my base of operations. The research lab is in the eastern side where Grounders Inc. is housed. Monty, Raven, Emori, and Echo could all work together from the base. You could all have apartments there. It’d be a lot easier on everyone.”

It sounds perfect, actually. Immediately, Clarke realizes how badass the scenario could be. All of them in one place, working to save the city. Sometimes, it’s awesome being a hero.

“I don’t know,” she says, affecting uncertainty. “Does it have a rooftop view?”

Lexa scoffs. “Please. It’ll put the Dropship’s to shame.”

Clarke blushes at Lexa’s proximity, but she clears her throat and says, “I’ll have to talk to the team.”

“Of course. Let me know your decision at your earliest convenience.”

A chuckle slips from Clarke’s lips. Leave it to Lexa to speak like this is a business meeting.

Then again, that’s exactly what this is for her, isn’t it? Clarke hugs her crossed arms to her stomach as she walks Lexa over to the balcony. Maybe living in TonDC won’t be such a picnic. Maybe she’ll feel just as far from Lexa as she does now.

Lexa climbs onto the railing. “Goodnight, Clarke.”

“Goodnight, Lexa.”

Lexa jumps. Clarke watches her until she disappears into the shadows at the end of the street.

* * *

“Are you sure this is the best idea?” Wells asks. “Jasper’s not exactly the most reliable guy.”

“It’ll be fine,” Clarke assures him.

Jasper works for _The Polis Independent_ as a photographer. Clarke is meeting him and his girlfriend, Maya, for an interview in ten minutes.

“You want us to come with you?” Bellamy asks.

“No, but thanks. I’ll be back in an hour. Save me some pizza.”

“You eat so much now,” Octavia complains. “You should probably just pick up a couple more pizzas on your way home.”

Bellamy chortles.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Fine. Don’t get into too much trouble without me, okay?”

Bellamy grins. “No Clarke around? Well, we’re just going to do whatever the hell we want.”

“Yeah, have fun with the video games you play every night anyway,” Clarke retorts before launching off the balcony.

The fall air is growing cooler. Winter is breaking through the seams and will soon be here in full force. Clarke doesn’t feel the cold, though. Even if she could, she wouldn’t. She loves flying too much to feel anything else. It’s the only time she doesn’t have to worry at all. She wishes Lexa could know that feeling. She walks around carrying the weight of the world, and Clarke just wants to help ease it.

She touches down at the edge of a public park. Maya and Jasper sit on the fountain. Jasper has a digital camera around his neck. They’re cute, she decides.

Jasper grins when he notices her. “Hey, Cl—uh, Sky Girl!”

“Hello,” Clarke says smoothly. She places her fists on her hips and stands with her feet apart. The power pose. Also a great picture pose.

Maya bolts to her feet, enthusiasm all over her face. “I’m Maya Vie, reporter for _The Independent_. Thanks so much for agreeing to meet with us.”

Clarke inclines her head. “Of course. I’m Polis’s humble servant.” She bites her bottom lip as she imagines Lexa rolling her eyes at the line. Not that Lexa doesn’t feel the same way. She’d just never say it aloud.

“Well, Polis is very intrigued by you, Sky Girl,” the reporter says.

“I’m happy to answer their questions.”

Maya holds up a digital recorder. “Mind if I record this?”

“You wouldn’t be a very good reporter if you didn’t,” Clarke says.

Jasper snaps a few pictures. She shoots him a smile. He’s silly and sometimes annoying, but she loves him like a kid brother, and she’s happy to do this for him, especially if it means he gets a bump in cred at the paper.

“Obviously, you’ve been doing incredible feats since you first appeared in Polis a few months ago,” Maya says, “but what about last night? At least a dozen separate robberies. You and the Commander were both spotted in the city, but neither of you managed to catch any of the thieves. What happened?”

Sheesh. Talk about starting with a curve. Maya could have eased her into it by talking about all the times she _has_ stopped the bad guy. Clarke licks her lips. “We’re still figuring out our footing, that’s all. We’ll get there soon. I promise.”

Maya’s eyes light up. “‘We’? ‘Our’?”

Oh, no.

“Wait.” Maya holds up her recorder. “You’re working with The Commander, aren’t you? That makes so much sense.”

“No, I mean, we’re colleagues,” Clarke sputters. “We consult each other when necessary, but it’s not like we’re partners.”

It’s not like they live in the same building or merged teams or spend a ton of time together.

“How long have you been working together?” Maya asks. “Since you got here? Or is it recent? Is she a superhuman, too? Can she fly? If she can, why hasn’t she shown it?”

Yep, Lexa’s going to kill her.

* * *

“How’s it going in here?” Clarke asks as she strides into the Commander’s base. _Their_ base, she reminds herself. It’s their base now, in the basement of the TonDC building.

“Awesome,” Monty says from his spot in front of a wall of computers. “Look at this equipment! I’m in heaven!”

“However,” Raven says, crossing her arms, “E Squared over there won’t even let us talk about our _idea_ for putting a tracker in the Commander’s boot.”

Emori scowls at the comment, but Echo only grins. They’re at completely opposite ends of the giant room, which doesn’t exactly scream that they’re getting on, but Clarke has faith in her friends. If she and Lexa can figure this whole teamwork thing out, so can Monty, Raven, Echo, and Emori.

“Sorry, Raven,” Lexa says, walking into the room in full Commander gear. “That’s my decision, not theirs, and I’m still thinking about it just like I promised.”

Raven nods. Combativeness exchanged for resignation, she says, “Okay, thanks. We wouldn’t want to lose you, you know.”

“I’d say the same about you, Raven. In the meantime—” Lexa points between the two halves of the new team. “—play nice, guys.” She turns. “Clarke.”

Clarke takes a step back into a mannequin wearing one of Lexa’s spare suits. By the smirks on Raven’s and Monty’s faces, she’s not doing such a bang-up job at keeping this little crush a secret. Plus, the interview came out in today’s _Independent_ , which means Lexa probably wants to lecture her about discretion. That’s not a conversation she wants to have today. Luckily, her earpiece beeps, and she touches it to accept the call.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says through the earpiece.

“Yeah, hey, Bell. What’s up?”

“With the surveillance video from your team, we tracked down those thieves you were chasing the other day.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah. The stuff they took was a strange mix, though.”

“What do you think that means?”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy says. “I thought I could send the details to Lexa’s team. Maybe they’ll know what to look for.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

“Great. I’ll have O send it on over.”

“We’ll let you know what we find,” Clarke says. “You’re still on for Thanksgiving dinner, right?”

He chuckles. “And your mom’s famous pies? Of course. I’ll bring the beer?”

“Of course,” she laughs back. “See you then.”

“Hey, uh . . .” He trails off with a cough. “Be safe out there, okay?”

Her first instinct is to make a joke because that’s what their friendship is. But it’s coming up on Thanksgiving and there’s a bite in the fall air and Lexa is watching her while trying not to let on and Clarke’s heart is so, so full. “You too, Bell,” she says. “Call me if you need me.”

Lexa walks toward her as soon as the call ends. “Clarke, the interview—”

Clarke holds up her hands. “I know, okay? I messed up, but I’ll fix it. I just keep screwing up in your eyes, don’t I?”

Lexa smiles softly. “I was just going to say it was a nice article, Clarke. Polis can’t help but love you.”

Clarke feels the corners of her mouth twitching upward. She doesn’t care whether Polis loves her. She’ll do this job no matter what, just like Lexa. She does care, though, whether one person in particular loves her—or even just likes her. She cares very much.

Nothing like a night of crime-fighting to get her mind off it, though. She clears her throat and asks, “Ready for a night of doling out justice via sharp punches and even sharper words?”

Lexa laughs, the sound musical. “Aren’t I always?”

Clarke lifts a brow. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“Try me, Sky Girl.”

* * *

Chaos. That’s the only word she can use to describe this. The apartment she and Raven moved into in Lexa’s building is spacious, but it still doesn’t adequately hold the loud personalities of her loved ones. She’d take kicking criminal ass over family dinners anytime.

Not really, though. She loves these losers. She just wishes there were a few more faces here. Currently, it’s Bellamy, Octavia, Wells, Raven, Jasper, Maya, Monty, Abby, and Marcus. Plenty of people. Just not the one she wants to see.

“O, where’s the wine? You brought the wine, right?”

“Dude, where are your spoons? The organization in these cabinets leaves a lot to be desired.”

“I can’t fit this pie in the fridge!”

“Raven, I can’t believe you password protected your universal remote! How am I supposed to control the tunes? Don’t you trust me?”

The doorbell rings.

“Oh, thank God,” Clarke mutters under her breath as she leaves the hectic kitchen for the quieter living room. When she opens the door, Lincoln’s bulky frame fills the doorway. She’s only met Lexa’s brother a handful of times, but he’s already one of her favorite people because he’s a sweetheart, but also because he’s an artist and she enjoys recapturing her creativity when she talks to him.

“Clarke!” He pulls her into a giant hug. “Thanks for the invitation.”

“Of course! Thanks for coming. Great to see you. Come in.”

He steps inside, followed by Anya, who greets Clarke with a half-smirk. She carries a bottle of wine in each hand. Echo and Emori are next.

“The dining room’s right through there,” Clarke says.

Then comes Lexa, in dark jeans and a maroon sweater and carrying a bouquet of flowers. Clarke’s ashamed of the way her heart stutters at the sight. She’s a strong, confident woman. A crush doesn’t scare her.

“Hi,” Lexa says softly.

Clarke likes that about Lexa. The Commander is badass and scary, but Lexa is nothing but gentleness and compassion. She’s a moment of peace in the chaos.

“Hey,” Clarke says back.

“Sorry we’re a little late.”

“Don’t worry about it. Dinner hasn’t started yet. And, uh, I’m glad you could make it.”

“The truth is it was a little hard to tear myself away from being the Commander for a night.”

“The suit’s always waiting in the basement if we hear a cry for help.”

Smiling, Lexa nods. She offers the flowers. “I figured you’d have a lot of booze and desserts already.”

Clarke accepts the bundle. In another life, she’d spend tomorrow morning in paint-splattered clothes trying to translate the flowers to canvas. She doesn’t have much time for that anymore. They smell sweet, and she realizes how rare moments like this are, moments when she’s so close to opening up her heart.

That’s not a luxury superheroes can afford, though. Hearts aren’t priorities.

“Come on,” Clarke says. “Let’s get these in water and get you a drink.”

* * *

Jasper and Monty are fighting over the mashed potatoes. Bellamy and Marcus are discussing the fall of the Roman Empire. Echo and Raven are arguing about space shuttles. Anya, on her third drink already, is muttering sexual comments to a scandalized Wells. Abby and Maya are exchanging recipes. Octavia and Lincoln are making hearteyes at each other.

In the middle of it all, Clarke finds Lexa’s gaze over the vase of flowers. They’re sitting across from each other, which isn’t close enough for Clarke’s liking, but at least they’re not at completely opposite ends of the long table.

Lexa gives her an amused smile. It feels intimate and private, but it only reminds Clarke that she has no idea what Lexa’s intentions are. Is she content to stay professional? Does she want friendship? More, maybe?

Clarke lifts her beer. “Do you want to do the honors?”

“Oh, sure. Everyone, I’d like to make a toast.” When the table quiets, Lexa raises her glass, too. “To those we have lost and to those we shall soon find.”

 _Those we have_ _lost_. Costia, Finn, Jake. Parents, lovers, friends, mentors. Their pasts are chockfull of loss and heartache.

 _Those we shall soon find_. The look in Lexa’s eyes—sweet, serious—makes Clarke think she means they’ll find each other. That might just be the wine talking, though.

Emori snorts. “Dramatic much, Lexa?”

“‘Drunk much’ is more like it,” Anya says with a snigger.

“I’m not drunk,” Lexa insists.

“Whatever you say, dear sister.”

She must be, though, Clarke realizes, because the way she lets their knees rest against each other under the table isn’t like Lexa at all. Not for the first time, Clarke wishes she could trade all her powers for just one—the power to read minds.

* * *

“How’s the Ark?” Clarke asks, taking the pies out of the refrigerator.

“The same as ever,” Abby says. She pours herself a glass of wine. “Hectic, infuriating, rewarding.”

“But you get to save lives every day. That’s pretty great.”

Abby leans on the counter and sips from her glass of wine. “You ever think about coming back?”

“Mom.” How did she know that was coming? She never should have brought it up.

Abby raises her eyebrows innocently. “It’s just a question, Clarke.”

“I’m kind of busy.” She’s saving lives, too. She injects some cockiness into her voice. “Don’t you read the paper?”

Abby chuckles. “You’re my kid. I just want you safe and happy. So?”

Pie cutter, pie cutter, pie cutter. Hosting a holiday dinner a few weeks after moving to a new place wasn’t the best idea. “So what?”

Abby pulls open a drawer, locates one, and holds one out. “So, are you happy?”

She is. Flying makes her happy. Saving lives makes her happy. Helping people makes her happy. So, why does she feel like she’s missing a piece of herself?

“And Lexa?”

Oh, right. Clarke slices into a pumpkin pie. Innocently, she asks, “What about her?”

“Come on. You can’t let me sit through a dinner with you two and expect me not to pick up on that.”

Clarke moves a slice from the pie pan to a plate. “Pick up on what?”

“Clarke.”

Add some whipped cream to the top of the pie. Compartmentalization is her best friend. “What?”

“ _Clarke_.”

Finally, Clarke looks up. Moms have a way of forcing you to confront your fears.

“She’s intelligent, well-spoken, compassionate,” Abby says. “She has a drive to help people, just like you. She obviously cares for you. I couldn’t ask for more for you.” She hums lightly and fixes Clarke with an appraising look. “But that wouldn’t mean a thing if you didn’t care for her, too.”

Clarke grabs her mom’s wine glass and takes a gulp. Abby laughs. There’s no hiding from it now. She has a city to save. She doesn’t have time to deal with an unrequited crush.

“I’m screwed, aren’t I?” Clarke asks.

“Oh, honey.” Abby gathers her into a hug, and suddenly, they’re both laughing and crying. “Not at all, I promise.”

* * *

Clarke likes seeing Lexa like this. A fraction of the weight lifted from her shoulders. Her eyes alight with love for all the people going about their lives out there. Curly hair rippling in the rooftop breeze. She belongs to this city. It’s her heart in a way that no person could ever be.

Clarke shouldn’t be jealous. She takes a sip of beer, kicks her heels against the building, quiets her senses. When she narrows the world down, blocks out the miscellany and the cacophony, it’s just two heartbeats. It’s gentle, rhythmic breathing. It’s a thousand unspoken thoughts and fuzziness in her chest and a search for the courage that’s buried inside.

There’s comfort in that.

“We went through the information Bellamy sent over,” Lexa says.

“Mm. Find anything?”

“Actually, yes.”

“What?”

Lexa doesn’t answer right away.

Clarke looks over to find Lexa staring at her. “Lexa, what is it?”

“The hospital, the police station, and the art gallery were among the places that got their records stolen.”

“Okay.”

“We believe the other thefts were meant to throw us off course. Clarke, you’re what those three have in common. The ones from the hospital and police station were from the week of your accident.”

Clarke takes a long swig of her beer, swallows down the dread that threatens to rise up.

“Someone’s close to figuring out your identity, Clarke.” Lexa’s voice is gentle, like it always is during their rooftop conversations, but she’s scared. This has scared her, and Clarke knows she’s thinking about the men with glowing eyes, too. “We need to make a plan for what we’re going to do when that day comes.”

They do. A plan is smart. Being prepared could save their lives.

But all Clarke wants to do is sit on a rooftop and look out at the city lights with the girl she likes. In this moment, she doesn’t want to be Sky Girl and the Commander. She wants to be Clarke and Lexa.

She sighs. “Or we could let it be for just one night.” Her tone is wheedling, but she doesn’t care. “We could go back inside and have dessert with our family and friends and watch terrible holiday movies and be normal for a few hours.”

“Clarke . . .”

“Lexa. One night. That’s all I’m asking for.” She slides her hand over Lexa’s, warm in the chilly night. She holds out her beer bottle. “How about it, Commander?”

The corners of Lexa’s lips quirk up. She clinks her bottle against Clarke’s. “As you wish, Sky Princess.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I've been working two jobs and don't do anything but work and sleep.

Months of fighting crime and testing her superheroic limits, and Clarke finally finds something that can still take her breath away.

Lexa.

Specifically Lexa in _that_ dress, sparkly and green and plunging in the back to reveal an expanse of pale skin. A tattoo peeks out from the fabric over her left shoulder, and Clarke has to remind herself what breathing is.

“I picked it for you,” Lexa says.

“What?” Clarke sputters, choking on her champagne. If she picked that dress for Clarke, she did a bang-up job. Not that it would be hard to admire Lexa in any sort of outfit. Or no sort . . . Clarke clears her throat, clears that thought from her head. Now is not the appropriate time to have naked fantasies about her colleague-slash-crush.

“The museum,” Lexa says, a hint of a smile on her face.

As much as Clarke likes Lexa’s grin, those rare moments when she loosens up enough to really enjoy herself, Clarke loves this kind of smile best—the barest crack in her defenses, the promise of much more hiding beneath the surface.

“They asked me where I wanted to hold the event,” Lexa says, “and I thought you’d enjoy the art.”

“Oh.” Clarke pushes past the initial disappointment to realize that as nice as having a dress picked for her in mind would have been, this is on a different level of thoughtfulness. “You threw a party at a museum because you thought I would like it?”

Lexa nods. “Was I right?”

“Yeah . . .” The truth is Clarke’s barely been looking at the art. Framed paintings can’t compare to a living work of art.

Lexa indicates the gallery hall with a graceful tilt of her head. “Perhaps you’ll be good enough to show me around? I don’t know much about art, I’m afraid.”

Clarke snorts. “Please. You have an original Albert Moore in your office.”

“Not really my style, unfortunately. It was chosen for me by a designer. She thought it would . . . soften people’s opinions of me.”

Lexa’s staring off into the crowd, profile turned toward Clarke, and Clarke can’t help the surge of affection that builds in her chest. Lexa is a hard person to know, but once she lets you in, she’s easy to love.

So startlingly easy.

Not knowing what to do with that information, Clarke gestures toward the hall with her champagne flute. “Do you want to start with the Renaissance or the Impressionists?”

A soft blush lights Lexa’s cheeks. “Surprise me.”

Grinning, Clarke takes her by the hand and pull her into the gallery. The touch sends her heart thudding against her ribcage, but she’s getting much better at ignoring inconvenient feelings. Or at least ignoring them until the symptoms go away.

An older woman in a tasteful navy gown heads off their path toward the Gentileschis. “Alexandria,” the woman says with a caring smile, “how lovely to see you.”

“And you, Luna,” Lexa says, holding out her hand to shake the woman’s.

Luna turns her attention to Clarke. “And who is your charming date?”

“Not a date; just a friend,” Lexa says, much too nonchalantly for Clarke’s liking. “Luna, this is Dr. Griffin. Clarke, this is Luna, a business associate.”

“And friend, I hope,” Luna says, eyes sparkling. To Clarke, she adds, “Oh, a doctor! Do you work at Ark Hospital?”

“Actually, I’m not currently practicing,” Clarke says. “I’m taking some time off.”

“Well, nothing wrong with that just as long as you make good use of that time.” Luna throws a not-so-subtle look at Lexa.

There’s no misunderstanding her meaning. Rather than respond, Clarke gulps down the rest of her champagne. Only when she lowers the flute, she catches Lexa’s gaze. Her green eyes are more open than Clarke’s ever seen them, and their intensity sparks a seed of hope. Tiny, timid, but very present.

That’s it. Clarke is going to tell her.

“Now, if you’ll forgive me, Clarke,” Luna says, settling a hand on Lexa’s arm, “I need to borrow our dear Alexandria for a little while. I’ll have her back as soon as I can.”

Clarke struggles to shift mental gears, leaving her standing like an open-mouthed fool for a moment until she manages to say, “Oh, sure. I’ll go . . . mingle.”

“Are you sure?” Lexa asks.

Clarke smiles. “Yeah. Of course. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay, I’ll find you in a little while,” Lexa says before following Luna through the gallery.

Clarke allows herself the weakness of watching her leave.

Or she’ll tell Lexa later. She swaps her empty champagne glass for a full one and looks around for her friends. Too bad patience isn’t one of her superpowers.

* * *

Busy is good. Busy means she doesn’t have to think so much. Thinking is dangerous. Thinking leads to possibilities. What Clarke needs is to stay in the moment.

She checks her phone in case Lexa has texted.

She hasn’t.

_Yeah. In the moment, Griffin._

She cracks an egg for the pancake batter. Breakfast is the moment. Pancakes are the moment. She will absolutely, under no circumstances think about how she hasn’t had a single moment alone with Lexa since she resolved tell her.

About her feelings.

Those pesky feelings that won’t go away no matter how hard Clarke tries.

The bowl cracks in her hands. “Dammit.”

From her position on the living room couch, Raven groans. “Don’t you ever get tired? Can’t you go to sleep for three or four more hours and _then_ make me breakfast?”

Clarke wipes up the mess. “When that guy had that weird rock and I fainted, I felt tired, but other than that, not really.”

“Must be nice.”

“Believe me, it has its drawbacks,” Clarke says. “And it isn’t my fault you stayed up too late playing video games with the boys after all the crime-fighting we did.”

Crime-fighting that was, unfortunately, sans Lexa because they’d split to cover more ground.

“Excuse me. Bellamy has been a real jerk lately, and it’s my destiny to show him up.” Raven scoffs. “I thought you had my back, Griff.”

Clarke dumps the cracked ceramic into the trash. “I’m making you breakfast, aren’t I? And I promise to be at the next gaming night, Ray.”

“Yeah, yeah. Too bad your super reflexes don’t exactly make it a fair game.”

Octavia whirls into the apartment and lets the door shut behind her with a slam. “I need a drink. All-nighters are a bitch.” She’s wearing her detective outfit—dark jeans, a plain tee, and a suit jacket.

Clarke pops open a bottle of champagne over the sink to make Octavia a mimosa.

“So your date went well?” Raven asks, still on the couch.

“It didn’t go at all,” Octavia says through the opening over the counter that looks into the living room. She scowls. “It would have, but I had to go into work. They found a couple of bodies.”

“Oh, damn.”

“Yeah, two of the thieves from a few weeks ago.”

Octavia takes the mimosa from Clarke and walks into the living room, where she lifts Raven’s legs, sits down, and pulls Raven’s legs onto her lap. She flips the Sunday morning news on. Clarke starts on a new batch of pancake batter.

“But Lincoln was cool with rescheduling,” Octavia says.

A groan slips from Clarke’s mouth as she measures the flour. She throws the flour into the bowl and hopes no one heard.

Octavia heard. She twists to look at Clarke over the back of the couch. “What’s wrong with you, Clarke?”

“You mentioned two of her least favorite things today—romance and the Woods family,” Raven answers with a smirk.

“Oh?” Octavia raises an eyebrow. “I thought those were two of your _most_ favorite things.”

Clarke balls up a dish towel and cocks her arm to throw it at her friends, but the television screen behind them catches her eye.

Lexa.

Well, the Commander. She’s still dressed in her vigilante blacks from last night, and the paint around her eyes is smeared even more than normal. She’s tied to a chair.

Octavia and Raven swivel to follow Clarke’s gaze.

“Turn it up! Turn it up!” she shouts.

Octavia scrambles for the remote and increases the volume. Rapt, Clarke walks around the counter and into the living room.

On screen, Lexa growls through the duct tape covering her mouth and tugs against her restraints. A man, dressed all in black, face out of frame, thrusts a _Polis Independent_ in front of her chest. The camera zooms in to show today’s date on the paper.

The news ticker on the bottom of the screen says: _Breaking news—the Commander held captive. Ransom demands are not yet specified. This is a live broadcast from the kidnappers. Police are working to recover the Commander._

“Lexa,” Clarke breathes.

“People of Polis,” the man on screen says, his voice scratchy and unpleasant. “I have your precious Commander. But rest assured. She’s not what I’m after.”

He pauses dramatically. Lexa takes the opportunity to stare into the camera and shake her head. Clarke wishes she understood what Lexa’s trying to say beyond that she’s going to fuck this guy up at the first chance she gets.

The man grabs a fistful of Lexa’s hair and violently pulls back her head to stop the movement. “I want Sky Girl,” he snarls. “Sky Girl has twelve hours to reveal her identity, or the Commander dies.”

The broadcast goes black.

* * *

Clarke storms into the base, cape trailing behind her, boots clicking on the concrete. To their credit, the team is already assembling. Raven, Monty, Echo, and Emori are all scrambling into their stations. Anya, Lincoln, and Wells sit tensely around the conference table. Octavia and Bellamy are en route to the precinct, and Jasper’s on his way to _The Polis Independent_ office.

They’re going to figure this out.

They have to.

Because the other outcome is unthinkable.

Not for the first time in the past few minutes, Clarke curses internally at Lexa’s refusal to wear a GPS chip. The cons may have outweighed the pros in her eyes, but this is a situation in which it would have been a very big pro.

_I won’t ever get hurt_ , she’d told Lexa. But now she gets it. She gets the chest-arresting fear of knowing someone you love is in danger and may not get out of it. The kidnapper not wanting the Commander is even more dangerous than him wanting Sky Girl because it means he doesn’t care whether the Commander lives or dies.

And she can’t die.

Clarke forces her mind to black out everything except the problem in front of them, a long dark tunnel that stretches out ahead of her. Lexa’s at the end. Lexa’s in the light. And they’re going to find her.

“When did Lexa last check in?” she asks.

“Around two am,” Echo says. “She was done for the night.”

“Did you confirm that she got back to her apartment?”

“That’s my fault. I should have stayed up to make sure she got home okay,” Anya says. Her expression says just how angry she is with herself.

Lincoln lays a hand on her arm. “She’s usually so good at taking care of herself. I should’ve checked in, too.”

“All right, people,” Raven says. “Hate to break it to you, but blaming ourselves isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Clarke nods. “Right. We’ve only got eleven hours and forty minutes to locate her. Emori, check security footage, starting with Lexa’s last known position. Echo, look for eyewitnesses, anyone who could have been in the area and might know something. Monty, I want you on the video. Anything you can find from the background, the ambient noise, anything. Raven—”

“I’ll try to pinpoint the broadcast location. On it.”

Clarke sends her best friend a grateful look. When the world falls apart, Raven Reyes will be there to help her piece it back together.

“Lincoln and I will use our professional contacts,” Anya says, “see if someone knows something, even something small.”

“Yeah, good. That’s good,” Clarke says.

“Look,” Wells says, “I’m not a superhero or a thirty-under-thirty businessperson, but I’ll do whatever I can, whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Wells,” Clarke tells him.

Wells smiles. “We help where we can, right?”

That’s something his dad used to say to them. Well is a professor, a thinker, not necessarily a doer, but he’s as brave as the rest of them.

Clarke allows herself a moment to look around at her friends, these people who haven’t hesitated to stand beside her in the fight. She loves them all with an intensity that, on any other day, would scare her. But today is a day for extremes, and tonight will be a night for celebration.

“I’ll take point,” Clarke says. “I’ll fly around Polis and try to locate her with my superhearing.”

“Everyone’s got jobs?” Raven says. “All right, go do them.”

“Let’s bring Lexa home.”

* * *

“How can we have nothing?” Clarke roars.

The monitors around the base are all flickering with activity. Emori, Echo, and Monty are bent over their stations, continuing the furious search. The conference table is littered with take-out containers and empty coffee cups.

Raven comes over and puts her hands on Clarke’s shoulders. “We’re not out of time yet.”

“We might as well be, Ray.”

Eleven hours and thirteen minutes, and they have _nothing_. Security footage, eyewitnesses, video analysis—nothing has lead anywhere. Even her flyover was a giant waste of time. Of all the sounds she heard, none of them belonged to Lexa.

This guy’s a ghost, and how do you find a ghost, let alone kill one?

Her Bluetooth beeps. She taps the earpiece. “Bellamy?”

“Yeah,” he says, and she can tell just from his tone that the police have gotten exactly as far as they have.

How can this be happening? How can they have been outwitted so thoroughly? Twelve hours isn’t a long time, to be sure, but this is what they’re good at. This is what they’re supposed to be good at.

“Bellamy . . .”

“I’m sorry, Clarke.” His voice is tight with emotion. “It’s going to be okay. We’ve always been in this together, and we still are.”

“I know.” Which is how she knows he and Raven and everyone else will support her when she tells them her plan. She locks gazes with Raven. “Get ready to broadcast.”

* * *

“Are we set, Monty?” Clarke asks. She’s on the top of the Ark, a drone outfitted with a camera hovering in front of her.

“We’re set,” comes his tinny reply through the earpiece.

“Clarke,” Raven cuts in. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”

Clarke swallows thickly. She looks out at the city—hers and Lexa’s, the city that first brought them together. She owes it to this city to protect its protector. It goes a lot deeper than that, though. “I have to, Raven. You know I have to.”

“Yeah, I do.” Raven lets out a long breath. “Good luck, Clarke.”

“Five minutes till the deadline, guys,” Monty says. “If you’re ready, Clarke, we’re live in five.”

Clarke nods. “I’m ready.”

She widens her stance, places her fists on her hips, lets the wind ripple her cape and her hair. She needs to look the part of the hero. The camera light blinks red.

Clarke takes a deep breath. “People of Polis, you know me as Sky Girl. For years, my colleague, The Commander, has risked her life to keep you safe, and now, it’s her life that’s under threat. I promise you that I will find this threat, this monster who calls himself a man, and eradicate it. But for now, to save the life of my friend . . .” The word doesn’t feel quite right, but wording isn’t important right now. Saving Lexa is. “To save the life of my friend, I willingly give up the anonymity that protects me. You know me as Sky Girl, but my name . . .”

She swallows thickly. If she had thought her life had changed drastically the day of the accident, this next minute will blow that out of the water. There will be no coming back from this.

But it’s _Lexa_.

No matter how many questions Clarke asks, Lexa will always be the answer.

Clarke looks directly into the camera. “My name is Clarke Griffin.”

The city is silent, like everyone is collectively holding their breaths, awaiting their Commander’s safe return.

Then every pay phone rings at once. Clarke shoots down to the nearest one and nearly rips the entire box out of its setting as she answers it. It’s a computer-generated voice repeating a sequence of numbers.

“Monty! Raven!” she shouts.

“We’re on it,” Monty says. “They sound like coordinates.”

The thirty seconds that tick by make Clarke feel like a chasm has opened up in time and Lexa’s on the other end, unreachable.

“Clarke, she’s on the top of Mount Weather!” Raven says.

Clarke launches herself into the air. She’s above the mountain in less than a minute. She scans the mountaintop, using her X-ray vision to see through the trees. Her heart’s racing when she spots her. She dives.

Lexa is tied up and unconscious, bleeding from a head wound.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

But her heartbeat is present and steady.

Clarke lets a sob escape her throat. Then, gently in case there’s any internal damage, she scoops Lexa up and flies away.

* * *

Everything looks better from a rooftop. The city winks in the night. Purple clouds roll in, blot out the few visible stars. In the safety of their homes, the people of Polis discuss the events of the day, the big revelation. Her phone’s been ringing non-stop. She finally had to turn it off. Reporters want interviews. Friends want answers. Even her doctor called. Indra Van Houten, the police chief, will no doubt have words for her, but Bellamy and Octavia are holding her off until at least tomorrow. Abby and Marcus had given her big hugs, but then her mom had kicked her out of Lexa’s apartment so she could tend to wounds.

For the first time since she got her powers, Clarke wishes she could still get drunk. There’s not enough alcohol in the city to deal with this mess of a day. She lifts the vodka bottle to her lips. It burns on the way down, but she’s finished four-fifths of the bottle, and she doesn’t feel a thing.

Except the thing she’s endeavoring _not_ to feel.

She takes a shaky breath. What she did today is something she’d do for anyone she loves—her mom, Marcus, Bellamy, Octavia, Raven, Wells, Monty, even Jasper. So why does this feel so important, so immovable, so permanent?

Behind her, the door to the roof opens. Without a word, Lexa sits gingerly beside her. She takes a long pull of vodka. Grimacing, she sets the bottle down.

Clarke stares at her. Her face is banged up, one eye purpled and her bottom lip split. A butterfly bandage covers her temple. She looks like she went through hell because she did, and she’s all Clarke can see. She’s all Clarke _wants_ to see. For the rest of her life.

“Thank you for saving me,” Lexa says, voice soft and gentle. Just like her heart.

Clarke nods, not feeling the need for words.

“But you shouldn’t have done it.”

“What?”

Lexa looks up. “You shouldn’t have put yourself at risk for me.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarke asks.

“I’m expendable, Clarke. You’re not.”

Like hell Lexa’s expendable. Clarke may have superpowers, but Lexa is Polis’s beating heart. She’s the reason Clarke even took this path. Without her example, she might not have used her powers at all.

Lexa sets her jaw. “Love is—”

“Weakness,” Clarke finishes. “Yeah, I’ve heard. I’ve heard all your lessons. I’m choosing to ignore them.”

“Clarke.”

“If I were the one who taken, you’d ignore them, too, Lexa.”

Lexa’s eyes, even in the deep night, are beacons of light. The tension in her shoulders relaxes. “Everything is different now.”

Clarke nods. “I know.”

There’s a beat where they hold each other’s gaze and pretend the world isn’t slipping away from them.

Lexa, always the pragmatist, breaks the illusion, breaks the hope. “We shouldn’t be seen together. They can’t tie me to you and figure out who I am, so we’ll have to limit our contact. And we can’t do this anymore.” She waves a hand to the vodka, to the roof, to the city.

Clarke’s found a purpose in fighting for Polis, but she lives for these rooftop conversations. Her first instinct is to fight, to prove Lexa wrong, to show her that life isn’t about the grand, sweeping gestures like locking away your heart to protect the city and the people you love.

It’s about the little things.

Family dinners.

Shared crosswords over coffee.

Conversations on the rooftop.

Wiping away a tear, Lexa stands and leaves.

Clarke wants to fight, but after all this time working with Lexa, she understands. They can’t have normal. They can’t do dinners at home and afternoons in museums and breakfasts at cute little cafés around the corner. They can’t have that so the people of Polis _can_.

By saving Lexa, Clarke has lost her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right. Like many people, I'm still reeling from last week's episode. It took the wind out of my sails, and I was ready to give up on this story altogether, even though this next chapter was already half-written. But a friend convinced me to continue. I don't have much to offer, but I hope that this story can bring a bit of comfort to anyone who's feeling hurt and betrayed. We all felt drawn to Clarke, Lexa, and their relationship for different reasons, but we're the reasons they'll live on. Keep fighting, keep loving, everyone.
> 
> Feel free to chat with me over on tumblr @nobledeeds-and-hotbaths.

Flying. These days, it’s the only thing Clarke’s living for. After the stunt she pulled to save Lexa, her team won’t let her leave the apartment for anything but crime-fighting, and the rest of her friends and family back them up. Not that she blames them. Everyone in the city wants something from her. Going out as plain old Clarke Griffin is dangerous.

And so flying is Clarke’s sole refuge. Tonight, the brisk winter air rejuvenates her after a day of being pent up. It’s not that she _wants_ more crime to happen during the day. It’s just that it would be a welcome change from Netflix marathons and failing at Pinterest crafts.

Clarke’s earpiece beeps.

“We’ve got a guy in a back alley off 27th beating up his girlfriend.”

Clarke whirls around and flies off in the direction of the crime. “And the Commander?”

“The Commander’s out on a different call,” Echo says. “It’s all you right now.”

“I’m on it.”

Clarke arrives at the scene in seconds. The nearest streetlamp is broken, bathing the alley in darkness. Not darkness impenetrable to superhuman eyes, though. A tall man in a mussed suit towers over a woman shrinking against the brick wall.

It takes a second for Clarke to absorb the scene and even less for the rage to take over. She rockets toward him and lets her fists fly. The first one drops him, so she straddles him and, with each punch, lets—go—of—her—anger.

Or maybe she doesn’t. His face is a mess of blood in a matter of blows, and it only serves to enrage her further. Because what sort of man does this? To anyone? This man deserves to burn in hell, and if she can’t send him there, she’ll make his life a living one.

A hand tightens around her arm and drags her away.

There is a storm within Clarke’s chest. It is bottled, and she is broken, and the only way she knows to release it is to lift her head to the sky and scream.

* * *

Clarke feels like a hurricane. If she blew hard enough, maybe she could stir one up. Her boots slam into the concrete with each step as she crosses the base, bee-lining for Lexa, who’s consulting quietly with the team.

“Where were you?” Clarke demands.

Lexa turns. “What?”

“I mean, where have you been for the last three weeks? I’m out on my own all the time.”

Clarke’s voice is rising in volume, but Lexa keeps hers low, like she’s trying to keep this conversation private despite the half dozen people in the base. “You’re blaming this on me not being at your side every minute of every night?”

“That’s not— I don’t expect you to hold my hand, Lexa, but I do expect my partner to be there for me. You haven’t spoken to me beyond meaningless pleasantries, and every time I try to talk to you, you run away.”

That’s not the whole problem, though. She misses Lexa, misses her like hell. But what she did tonight didn’t come from just that. It came from a place of fear and frustration. Almost losing the person she loves and being powerless to stop it took a bigger toll than she’d originally thought. It’s like it tore a chunk out of her, the part that’s able to think straight, apparently. She’s careening, in a freefall, and her powers aren’t going to save her when she smashes into the earth this time.

“Clarke.”

Lexa grounds her, makes her want to be more, better. Even behind her Commander paint, her green eyes breathe life into Clarke’s choked-off heart.

“If you had been there, maybe I wouldn’t have . . .” Clarke trails off. It’s so fresh. The rage, the connection of fist against face, the man’s state when she’d finished. He’ll be lucky to live, and she wants to die.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be out there at all.” Lexa’s voice is calm, gentle even, but her gaze wavers from Clarke’s for the barest of seconds. Even she’s disgusted. “Consider yourself benched.”

Shock momentarily replaces Clarke’s self-loathing. “What? You can’t do that.”

“I just did.” Lexa looks around. “Would anyone care to question my decision?”

The silence is so loud it grates on Clarke’s eardrums. Lexa clenches her jaw. They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. Clarke hopes her partner can read everything she’s feeling right now. All she sees in Lexa’s is wariness. She deflates.

“Get some rest, Clarke,” Lexa finally says before walking out.

The team immediately returns to work or packing up their things for the night, valiantly pretending they hadn’t just witnessed that.

Clarke is frozen, pinned to the ground by the weight of her shame. This isn’t Lexa’s fault, not by any stretch. But she’s been cooped up for weeks and her partner, her best friend, her _person_ has barely spoken to her. Every day, she feels more lost, like a boat with a broken rudder. Without Lexa, she’ll smash right into the rocky shore.

Raven hobbles over using her crutch, which means she must be tired. “Clarke, seriously, you need to chill. Tonight’s . . . incident aside, did you ever stop to think that maybe she’s trying to protect you?”

Clarke crosses her arms and leans against a table. Coming down from her anger has her lightheaded. “Raven, I’m exhausted and not really in the mood for cryptic conversations.”

“Says the girl who never gets exhausted. Look, she’s been down here every day all day searching for the guy who kidnapped her, the guy who forced _you_ to reveal your identity. She’s convinced something’s going to happen to you, and she’s doing all she can to stop it.”

Clarke takes a deep breath. Bellamy, Octavia, and the rest of the police are supposed to be handling that. “Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she ask me to help?”

“I don’t know,” Raven says with a shrug. “It’s Lexa. She’s not the most talkative person. Maybe she feels like it’s her fault for –”

“It’s _not_ her fault.”

“I know, Clarke,” Raven says, cutting her off before the anger can take hold again. “But here’s the thing. Yeah, she probably wants to kick this guy’s ass, but she’s mostly doing it for you. There’s someone out there who wants to get to you, and she— _we_ —are going to do our damndest to stop it.”

Clarke slides her arms around Raven’s neck. She doesn’t deserve her friends. She really doesn’t.

Raven returns the hug, arms snug around Clarke’s waist.

“I love you, Ray.”

“You better,” Raven says with a chuckle.

“Will you do me a favor?” Clarke asks as she pulls away.

“Anything.”

“Will you send me the information on . . . the man I assaulted? And the woman, too. I don’t think I should go to the hospital, but I want to try to . . .” She doesn’t finish because she can’t. She can’t try to make it right, try to fix it. All she can do is damage control.

“Sure thing.”

“Thank you.”

“You should probably go get cleaned up,” Raven says with a tilt of her chin toward Clarke’s hands and suit and the dried blood all over them.

“Right.” Clarke heads toward the elevator.

“And, Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

“You want to tell me what that was?” Abby asks.

If Clarke could blush, she would. She lost it out there. She lost it down in the base. Her knuckles have already healed, but the blood remains. She jolts up from the table, crosses to the sink, and scrubs at her hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to become partners with Lexa, learn from her, and they were supposed to save the city—the world—together. Instead, it’s a big fucking mess, and now that Lexa’s seen her weakness, she probably hates her.

Clarke doesn’t realize she’s crying until her mom slides an arm around her shoulders and squeezes. She gives into the embrace, burying her face in her mom’s shoulder and letting the sobs rack her body.

“Shh, shh, baby,” Abby murmurs, stroking Clarke’s hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“I tried—” Clarke hiccups. “I tried to be the good guy.”

“I know. I know. You made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean you’re not a good person anymore. You’re strong.”

Clarke can lift cars, but she’s far from strong. The sobs subside even as the guilt stays.

“Want me to stay with you tonight?” Abby asks.

Clarke hums.

“Okay. Go take a shower. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

She strips out of her suit and leaves it in a puddle on the bathroom floor. The hot water is heavenly, soothing lingering aches in her muscles and drawing the tension out of her shoulders. This is the worst she’s felt in over half a year. Maybe her new body is breaking down. Maybe all this power won’t last forever, after all. In a way, she’d welcome that.

It’s more than physical exhaustion, though. Much more. She used to share the weight of the world with Lexa without either of them really understanding how it had happened. It just had. They just fell together. And now, in addition to the increased weight on her shoulders, she feels like a piece of her heart’s gone missing and she doesn’t know how to get it back.

When she finally emerges from the bathroom, her mom’s laid out a soft pair of flannel pajama pants, an old college t-shirt, and a warm sweatshirt. She puts them on and crawls into her bed.

Abby pads into the bedroom a few minutes later, sets a mug of cocoa on the bedside table, and climbs under the covers. Clarke shifts into her, seeking the comfort of human connection with the one person who will love her unconditionally. No matter how much of a monster she’s becoming.

Abby sits against the headboard and strokes her hair. The movement lulls Clarke near sleep. She only prays it will be dreamless.

Softly, her mom says, “She’s not going to look at you any differently, you know.”

Clarke lets out an inquisitive noise because coherency is difficult right now.

“Lexa.”

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut. “She already does.”

Abby leans down to press a kiss to Clarke’s temple. “Things will be clearer in the morning, Clarke. Sleep now.”

And she does.

* * *

The man from the other night is badly injured, will be in the hospital and physical therapy for weeks, but he’ll live. His history of beating women eases Clarke’s guilt, but there’s an ache that lingers in her knuckles that she’s worried she won’t be able to rein in next time. To take her mind off it, she sends flowers to his victim, sets up college funds for her kids, pays off he mortgage.

It still doesn’t seem like enough.

But she tries. That’s all anyone can ask of her.

Isn’t it?

* * *

On the second morning after, when she’s had an entire day to lock herself in her apartment and let Raven cuddle with her, Clarke waits outside Lexa’s door. She tries to knock twice and drops her arm both times. She paces the hallway. She leans against the wall, calms her breathing, and listens.

She smiles when she hears Lexa’s heartbeat. It’s fast, accompanied by dull thwacks that Clarke guesses is a punching bag. There are two other heartbeats—Anya and Lincoln, probably—but she’s sure this one is Lexa’s.

Out of everything, that sound is what gets Clarke to finally knock.

It’s Lincoln who answers. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.” Clarke fights the tears that well up just at the sight of him because she knows what he must think of her. She has to talk to him, to make him understand, make him stop looking at her like that, but first, there’s something more pressing she has to do. “Can I talk to Lexa?”

“She’s not here.”

Clarke’s lips twitch. “Lincoln, I can hear her heartbeat.”

Sighing, Lincoln leans against the door frame. “I always forget you can do that.”

“I understand that she doesn’t want to see me,” she says, gaze darting to her shoes, “but I wanted to apologize. Maybe you could tell her I stopped by?”

“I will.”

Clarke nods a thank-you and walks away.

“We’re not like you,” Lincoln says, causing her to stop and turn.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She can’t keep a slight bite from her voice. She thought they’d gotten over this we-come-from-two-different-worlds thing. They’re one team, and that’s all that matters.

“We Woods siblings can be lone wolves,” he says. “We keep things to ourselves, like to take care of ourselves.” He pauses to study her. “Lexa opened her heart once only to have the one she loved taken from her. Do you think she wants that to happen again? Especially when you go and put your life at risk to save hers?”

Everyone in Clarke’s life—Lincoln, her mom, Raven—seems to be convinced that Lexa’s silence means she cares. It’s hard to jump onto that train of thought when Lexa can barely look at her. Clarke knows what it means to miss a person. She went through it with her dad, with Finn. She never knew how much more agonizing it was to miss someone standing in the same room.

“We’re partners. She’s in it; I’m in it,” Clarke says. “We deal with things together.”

Lexa’s voice carries from the living room to the doorway as she says something to Anya. Lincoln looks over his shoulder. Clarke freezes.

Lincoln’s shoulders relax. He tilts his head inside. “Then maybe you should talk to her.”

He takes a step into the apartment, and Clarke slowly fills his place in the doorway.

Lexa’s wearing shorts and a sports bra, skin slick with sweat. When she sees Clarke, she straightens and grabs the ends of the towel hanging around her neck. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Clarke says breathily, unwilling to interrupt the quiet. Her life’s been shit the past few weeks, but seeing Lexa—really looking into her eyes—brings calm back into her heart.

“What are you doing here?” Lexa asks. From anyone else, it’d be a demand, but her tone is gentle, like it always is with Clarke.

Lincoln makes to leave the room, but when he’s behind Lexa, he turns and mouths over his sister’s head, “Dinner. Invite her to dinner.”

“Oh, um, I thought you’d might want to come over for dinner tonight,” Clarke says haltingly. “My mom and Marcus will be there, but they like you and my mom’s cooking is infinitely better than mine.”

Lexa chuckles quietly. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says.

Lexa stares for a moment before replying, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, surprised. “Great. See you at 7?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Despite Lexa’s acceptance of the invitation, Clarke still expects her not to show up until the very second she knocks on the door. Lexa’s wearing boots, black jeans, and a white button-down shirt that’s tucked in, and once again, Clarke’s agitation leaves her in one breath. The thousand thoughts that have been swirling through her mind all day dissipate into mist, leaving gratitude and contentment. _This_ is why she wants to be around Lexa. Not to be selfish and put her in harm’s way, but because she is remarkably necessary to Clarke’s life.

After they meander into the living room, Lexa holds up the paper bag she’s brought with her. “I brought this for you. It’s not much, and it’s probably not the right stuff, but I thought it might help with . . . everything.”

Clarke takes a deep breath. She doesn’t need _things_. She needs the woman standing right in front of her. But given how far away Lexa is from that point, she takes the bag and looks inside. It’s a sketchbook and a set of drawing utensils. “Lexa . . .”

“I wanted to get some painting things, too,” Lexa says, “but I didn’t want to get the wrong ones. If you pick them out, I could have them sent here.”

Clarke sets the bag on the couch and wraps her arms around Lexa’s neck. After a brief moment of surprise, Lexa completes the embrace.

Clarke doesn’t know how to voice what she’s feeling, so she simply murmurs, “Thank you.”

Lexa nods against her shoulder.

Being held by another person, by someone who cares for her, brings all her inadequacies bubbling to the surface. Her voice is shaky when she finally finds it. “Does it get any easier?”

Thankfully, Lexa knows exactly what she means. Lexa always knows exactly what she means. “No, but you get stronger.” She runs her fingers through Clarke’s hair. “I never wanted this for you.”

Clarke, breathing deeply, clings to Lexa. “I never wanted you to see me as a monster.”

Lexa pulls away, slides a hand to Clarke’s neck. “Oh, Clarke . . . You’re a doctor. You’re an artist. You’re a loving daughter, a wonderful friend. You’re a hero. But a monster?” She shakes her head. “Never.”

“Lexa! We’re so glad you could make it!” Abby exclaims as she exits the kitchen, Marcus right behind her.

Lexa takes a step back, dropping her hand from Clarke’s neck. “Hi, Abby, Marcus. Thank you for the invitation.”

Abby gathers Lexa into a hug. “Oh, you’re welcome anytime, and don’t you forget that.”

Lexa smiles in response before shaking Marcus’s hand.

“Good to see you again, Lexa,” he says.

“And you. How’s the city council?”

Clarke crosses her arms as she watches the two take their conversation into the dining room. Her mom sidles up to her, an eyebrow raised, and bumps her shoulder.

“What?” Clarke asks innocently.

Abby shrugs. “Oh, nothing. Your guest looks like she could use a drink, doesn’t she?”

* * *

Lexa is laughing. They’re all laughing—her mom and Marcus, too—but it’s the sound of Lexa’s laugh that sends Clarke’s stomach into somersaults. It all feels so normal that for a moment, she can forget the blood on her hands, forget how hard it is to be a hero.

She wants this.

She wants sitting around a dinner table, telling stories and laughing with the people she loves. She wants easy nights when they don’t have to worry about bearing an entire city on their backs. She wants to lay her hand on Lexa’s knee under the table, wants to murmur amendments to her mom’s stories in her ear, wants to taste wine on Lexa’s lips.

She wants a life with Lexa, and isn’t acknowledging that the first step to fighting for it?

“Has there been any progress with the council’s view on superheroes?” Lexa asks.

The words tug Clarke back to the present, where she sips her beer and half-heartedly listens to the conversation in favor of studying Lexa’s jawline. That jawline, those cheekbones, those eyes will grace the first page of her new sketchbook. What better way to break it in than to pay tribute to the woman who gifted it to her?

“Slowly, unfortunately,” Marcus says. “But we’ll get there.”

Abby intertwines her fingers with Marcus’s. “It’ll happen. They’ve come a long way in the past few months.”

“True. They’ve stopped thinking of the Commander in terms of vigilantism and started looking at the numbers of how much you assist the police.”

“Clarke’s had a lot to do with that,” Lexa says, finally looking over.

Heat rises to Clarke’s cheeks. “Not that much, really.”

“When you showed up,” Lexa says, “no one cared about the good the Commander could do. All they cared about was how I messed up.”

“That was a long time ago, and it wasn’t –”

“I know, Clarke,” Lexa say softly, placing a hand on her forearm. “But I’m not about to let you downplay your role in gaining the trust of Polis.”

Clarke slides her hand over Lexa’s. “Well, that’s only because we make such a good team, Commander.”

“Right back at you, Sky Girl.”

* * *

“So, when do I get my rooftop privileges back?” Clarke asks, the words soft in the night.

Lexa leans her forearms on the balcony, looking out at the city. Clarke loves the view it gives of her profile, but she loves it even more when Lexa turns to her with a hint of a smile.

“We haven’t imprisoned you, Clarke,” she says. “We’re just asking you to be careful.”

“I know.” Clarke sighs. “But if whoever wanted to know my identity was going to use it against me, don’t you think they’d have done it by now?”

“I don’t know, but I can’t take that chance,” Lexa says, sincerity in her voice but fear in her eyes. “It’ll help if Marcus can convince the city council to come around to our side.”

She’s right. If the council comes around, they can push legislation that will protect Clarke and Lexa when they’re Sky Girl and the Commander. Which would be awesome. Only Clarke’s still stuck on what came before that. “ _You_ can’t take that chance?”

“ _We_ can’t take that chance.” Lexa’s gaze doesn’t leave Clarke’s, almost daring her to call her out on what she _really_ means and hasn’t worked up the courage to say.

But Clarke hasn’t worked up that courage, either. “I can take the house arrest,” she says. “But you disappeared on me.” She gets not being seen in public together, but Lexa knew how to hide from prying eyes when she needed to. She just didn’t _want_ to come around.

Lexa swallows thickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was just . . . easier that way.”

“What way?”

“Not seeing you. Not being reminded of what you sacrificed to save me. Not being terrified that decision would come back to haunt you.” The fight goes out of her, and her shoulders slump. “Or at least it was easier to convince myself of that when we weren’t in the same room.”

Shifting closer, Clarke slides her pinky over Lexa’s. “I don’t regret it.” She could never regret it. Privacy was a small price to pay for Lexa’s life.

Lexa shakes her head slightly, as if she can’t imagine anyone could care for her so much. And it breaks Clarke’s heart because there’s no one kinder or gentler or _better_ than this woman who has given up so much for her city, for her people. There’s no one more deserving of love.

Clarke _loves_ Lexa. Beyond all hope. And sometimes—like right now, with Lexa’s eyes so full and her breathing so uneven—she thinks Lexa loves her back.

The knowledge heavy in her mind but hope light in her heart, Clarke leans in. Her gaze flickers to Lexa’s lips. “You’d have done it for me,” she whispers.

Lexa’s nod is nearly imperceptible, but it’s enough. Clarke inches forward. This is it. This is the inevitable the past few months have led to, and the butterflies going wild in Clarke’s stomach won’t let her forget it.

Her cellphone rings from the depths of her pocket, startles them apart.

“Shit, sorry,” Clarke says. It’s from an unknown number. The calls from interviewers, the police chief, and even fans had died down over the weeks, but a misgiving in her gut causes her to answer this one. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end of the line is robotic, repeating a sequence of numbers.

Coordinates.

Just like three weeks ago, when Lexa had been kidnapped.

* * *

“This is it,” Lexa says, decked out in her Commander uniform, black paint smeared around her eyes.

The warehouse in front of them is clearly deserted. The lights are off, the windows are broken, and

Before Clarke can respond, a door creaks open. A man, pasty skin and black hair, stands smirking in the dim light of the doorway.

“What is this?” Clarke demands.

“My business isn’t with the Commander,” the man says. “She stays outside.”

Clarke exchanges a look with Lexa, whose gaze says it’s up to Clarke.

Clarke gives her a nod that she hopes conveys: _I’ll be fine_.

“I’ll wait here, then,” Lexa says, her voice low and strong as it always is when she’s the Commander, a far cry from how soft it is when they’re alone.

“Thirty minutes,” Clarke says. “If I’m not back in thirty minutes, sound the alarm.”

Lexa nods. Raven, Monty, Echo, and Emori are all on the other end of their earpieces. She won’t have to wait alone, and if Clarke needs any help, Lexa will be able to alert them quickly.

“See you on the other side, then,” Clarke says before following the man inside.

After a few minutes of following dark, winding hallways, they arrive in a well-lit though sparsely furnished room. Behind a giant desk sits a white-haired man in a suit. Behind him, a Van Gogh painting hangs on the wall. The man who led her in stands against the wall, watching them carefully.

“What do you want?” Clarke asks the man behind the desk.

He gestures to a wooden chair. “Please. Sit, Clarke.”

A shiver runs through her. That he knows her name doesn’t mean a thing. Everyone knows who she is now. “I’ll stand. Thanks.”

He smiles, the smile of an old man who thinks he’s seen a lot, who thinks it gives him the upper hand. “My name is Dante Wallace.” When she doesn’t say anything, he continues, “I’m interested in you, Clarke Griffin. That accident should have killed you. I should be thanking you for that. It allowed us to unlock the secret we’ve been searching for.”

“Which is?” Clarke asks. She still can’t get the measure of this, and that unnerves her. But she thinks of Lexa waiting for her outside, waiting to know she’s safe, and that calms her.

“Superhumanity,” Dante says. “The secret to turning the human body into all it can be. You’ve met one or two of my prototypes, in fact.”

Prototypes? Clarke pushes past all the memories of Lexa and searches her mind. Of course. The man with the glowing eyes. That was what this was all about. “What do you want, Wallace?”

Dante leans forward, elbows on the desk. “The problem is we haven’t been able to get it quite right. We haven’t been able to reproduce _you_.”

“You want to study me?” The suggestion is so absurd that a chuckle escapes Clarke’s lips. With the

“You’d be helping humanity move forward, Clarke. Evolution is inevitable. We’re simply trying to help it along.”

“And what would my role be, exactly? Guinea pig? Experiment?”

Dante laughs. “No, Clarke. Savior of humanity.” His eyes glitter with ambition.

Clarke scoffs. Big dreams like that are meant to appeal to idealism, not realism. There’s nothing safe about this, nothing legal, nothing good. Dante Wallace is bad news. “And if I don’t believe you?”

“We didn’t expect you to, of course. Come. Tour the facility. It’s state of the art, built into Mount Weather over a number of years. See our progress for yourself, see the good you’ll be contributing to. Then you can decide.”

Clarke swallows hard. She can’t let herself be swayed by this. Because this is all connected, and this is the man who kidnapped Lexa in order to figure out Clarke’s identity. All for this. With Sky Girl on their side, Wallace would be able to combat any and all opposition.

Dante leans back in his chair. “How about this? We’ll give you some time to think about it.”

“And if I don’t use that time to think about it?” Clarke says. “If you let me go, I could alert the police.”

“You won’t,” Dante says.

“I say we kill her while we have the chance,” the man against the wall says. “She’ll be easier to study when she’s dead.”

“Cage,” Dante growls.

Clarke shoots a glare at the other man. “And this is supposed to make me believe you’ll let me walk right out of here?”

“Please,” Dante says, “what hope do we mortals have of stopping a god? You’re free to do as you please. But what you can contribute to the future of mankind will be written in the history books, Clarke.”

* * *

Lexa’s barely spoken on the way back to base, only to assess whether Clarke was all right and tell her that their earpieces went out sometime during her interview with Wallace. She listened to Clarke’s recounting of the meeting, growing broodier by the sentence. It’s not like Clarke is _considering_ it. She just has to figure out what Dante’s really up to, why everything he says makes her stomach turn.

But that’s not the issue at hand, really, because when they step into the base, the first thing Clarke notices is that it’s empty. Completely empty despite the fact that Raven, Monty, Echo, and Emori had just been here and were supposed to be here until they got back.

“What the hell?” Clarke mutters. “Where is everyone?”

Deciding that the coincidence of the meeting with Wallace and their loved ones’ radio silence is too big to ignore, Lexa makes phone calls while Clarke flies around to check apartments and houses and work places and known social spots. Raven, Monty, Echo, and Emori are nowhere to be found, but it’s more than that. Abby, Marcus, Lincoln, Anya, Octavia, Bellamy, and Wells are all missing, too.

Such a long list of people to love. Such a long list of people to lose. This is what Lexa had meant by _Love is weakness_. It means your existence puts your loved ones in danger and there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. It means being felled by despair when the day you dread finally comes to pass.

When Clarke gets back to base, Lexa is leaning against a table, one hand over her eyes, the picture of hopelessness. She hasn’t found anyone, either.

“They’ve taken everyone we love,” Clarke breathes, giving voice to their greatest fear.

“Everyone?” Lexa asks, unable to hide the crack in her voice.

Clarke nods wearily. She should have seen this coming. There’s no excuse for letting her guard down so thoroughly. She sinks onto the couch, head in her hands.

The cushions dip as Lexa sits beside her. Then Lexa’s arms curl around her, and Clarke leans into the embrace.

“What do we do now?” she murmurs against Lexa’s neck.

“We storm the mountain.”


End file.
